Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Hey, Mr. President,” Triss said after a long moment of listening to it ring, and I fought the urge to remind her that he wasn’t the leader of the free world. “Ah, yeah, this is Triss. And your man Donovan was just in a pretty serious hit-and-run at my house. He said no cops,” she said, looking down at him. “Not great,” she said, gaze moving over his wounds. “Yeah. Okay,” she said, then rattled off our address. “He’s on his way,” she told Donovan. “Can we do anything? I don’t have anything for pain… oh! Margaritas!” she said, eyes going big. “Do you want some margaritas for the pain?”
“They’re more tequila than anything,” I told him, watching his gaze slide to me.
“Okay,” he agreed, making Triss pop up and run off.
“I really think you should be going to the hospital, not waiting for your friends,” I told him.
“I’ll be okay, sweetheart,” he assured me, and I tried to pretend that the pet name didn’t make my insides go all liquid.
“Booze!” Triss declared, bringing the whole damn pitcher and a glass back, dropping down on her knees beside the man. “No, don’t get up. I brought a straw,” Triss told him, popping a long-necked one into the drink so she could twist it to reach his mouth. “Okay. President called. Booze acquired. What else…” she said, trying to figure out the next step.
There was the sound of a car then, something that had all of us stiffening.
My heart was hammering in my chest as it got closer, then just kept driving on, oblivious to the wreck, and the three people on our front lawn.
“Gun,” Donovan said.
“What?” I asked, sure I misheard him.
“Get my gun,” he said, looking over at Triss, likely sensing that she was more willing to do the task.
“Sorry, Mr. Man, I didn’t see a gun with your phone,” Triss told him.
“False bottom,” Donovan gritted out.
“Oh, fun,” Triss declared, once again popping up to go in search of said gun.
Then, not a minute later, she was dropping back down beside the man, a black gun in her hand.
“Gun!”
“Give me that,” I demanded, even though I didn’t exactly want to hold it either. “You’re wasted,” I reminded her.
“Maybe. But I’m the one more willing to use it,” Triss declared.
“I don’t think that is a good thing,” I shot back.
“What if the guys in the car come back to finish him off? And us. We’re witnesses now, you know,” Triss reminded me. “If they come, we need to shoot them.”
“Oh, my God, Triss, this isn’t a movie.”
“No, because in a movie, it would be an eerie instrumental playing, not the Practical Magic soundtrack on a loop,” she said.
And, sure enough, when we all stopped speaking, I could still hear it. Stevie Nicks’s breathy vibrato ringing out in the quiet night.
“It could be a worse track,” Triss said, reading my mind as Stevie kept singing If You Ever Did Believe. “I mean, it could be Faith Hill’s This Kiss,” she said, looking down at Donovan. “Great song, sure, but I don’t think you want it being the soundtrack of your nasty accident.”
“Fair enough,” Donovan agreed, trying to take slow, steady breaths.
“Is there anything else we can do?” I asked, looking down at him.
He shook his head weakly, and I was worried he was hurt worse than we realized, that he was using all his energy just to stay conscious.
A few moments later, we could hear the sound of a car, making all of us tense up once again.
“Don’t worry. I will pop a cap in their asses if it’s them again,” Triss declared, clearly still a little drunk.
“Oh, my God. Give me the gun,” I demanded, reaching over toward her.
“No! You won’t even swat flies. I am the gun-toter of the family.”
“You have never toted a gun in your life,” I corrected. “Give me that.”
“Girls!” Donovan barked, making both of us freeze and look down at him. Pain, frustration, and just a hint of amusement toyed with his handsome features then.
“Look. I know you’re hurt and probably super annoyed with us right now,” Triss said, smirking. “But your voice is totally hot when you bark at people.”
“Triss!” I hissed, but the look she shot me told me that she knew I thought so too. So I said nothing else.
Luckily, the car that was speeding down our street wasn’t the guys coming back to finish the job, but a black SUV that came to a screeching stop beside us on the street.
The doors were flying open, and more hot guys were flooding out.
Three in all.
I knew them all.
Even if I hadn’t actually ever seen them myself.
Huck, the tall, square-jawed president. Che, the equally hot former car-racer who had been friends with Donovan years before either of them joined the biker club.
And, of course, Seeley.